Solipsism
by snarryvader81
Summary: Mama, we're all gonna die. Serious!crack, three way crossover Wesker/Miku


Hinasaki Miku has never done anything wild in her life.

She has always been shy, meek, the quietist girl in the class. She is cautious and reserved, always one to think before she acts. She keeps to herself, withdrawn into her own little world, one full of things no one else can see.

She does not know how she would've turned out if she hadn't been cursed with a sixth sense, a creeping horror in her mind that alerts her to the presence of the dead.

Perhaps, if she had been normal, she would've been like her classmates. She might've had friends, or a boyfriend, people to laugh and live with.

But Miku will never know, because she cannot allow anyone to get close. Mafuyu is the only one who understands, the only other person in the world who can truly _see_, and so he is the only one she can open to.

Once upon a time, however, there had been someone else, another who understood. She had been a pretty woman, far prettier than Miku thinks she herself will ever be, and she had smelt of roses, a scent that still lingers on all of her clothes hanging untouched in the closet.

This woman had been Mother, and Miku had loved her very much. She had shared her secrets with her, run to her in the middle of the night to escape the grotesque yurei standing motionless at the foot of the bed.

Miku had felt fearless wrapped in her arms, but then one day Mother had gone away, her arms forever dangling limp at her sides as she hung there from the tree.

So suddenly there is even one less person in the world she can turn to, and Miku feels as though she's suffocating. She wanders as if in a daze, brushing past nonexistent fingers of ectoplasm that reach for her as she flees the house, police sirens and Mafuyu's concerned voice chasing her as she runs away.

She doesn't know where she is headed or what she is doing. The streets grow unfamiliar and dark, heavy rain pounding against her body, but all she can think about is the swaying of the noose in the wind, the way Mother's eyes had stared down at her lifelessly from her pale, dead face.

She only stops thinking about it momentarily when she realizes that she is lost in downtown Tokyo in the middle of the night, shivering and wet with clothes and hair plastered to her.

She realizes that Mafuyu will be worried about her, and she doesn't want that. She steps through the nearest door, into a warm café with the pleasant smell of herbal tea hovering in the air and businessmen in expensive suits sitting at tables, talking quietly amongst themselves.

She walks up to the bar in the back and asks if she can use the phone, only to be told she has to buy something first.

Dazedly, she sits down on one of the chairs and pulls out the few yen she carries, telling the bartender to give her whatever it will pay for. Then she lowers her head, hands coming to her face as she tries to hold back tears.

"Are you okay?"

She almost doesn't realize that the question is directed at her. It is asked in an unconcerned manner, as though the voice's owner doesn't truly care about the answer, but why else would he have asked it?

'He' is a man, older than her, maybe in his mid-twenties. He is obviously not Japanese, or even Asian—probably American, she thinks, or from one of the European countries that is capable of producing people with blond hair and grey-green eyes.

"I . . ." she begins, though her voice cracks. "I—I'm fine. I just need to call my brother. He's worried about me."

"Why?" he asks idly, taking a sip of sake. "Didn't you tell him where you were going?"

"No," she says, eyes turning downwards. "I just . . . left."

He smirks, a languid expression she's never seen on anyone else. "You didn't want him to know you were coming to this district?"

"Um . . ." She hesitates stupidly, unsure of what to say. "What district are we in, exactly?"

He shoots her an odd glance. "Kabukicho."

"Kabuk—" She trails off, a blush rising on her face. "Oh. I . . . well, no, I don't want him to know I'm here . . ."

Miku has heard stories about this district, boys in her class claiming proudly to have visited it. She has always thought that it must be a dark place, one full of horrible echoes of the emotions of people who survived by selling their bodies.

What total desperation it would take for someone to turn to that, she remembers having thought, how it must eat at your soul, chipping more and more away until there was nothing but emptiness left, a degraded shell.

Miku suddenly understands what it is like to be empty, to have something rot away your insides until there is nothing but hollowness. For her it is the questions, the need to ask _why_, why did you leave me alone, what did I do?

But Mother can no longer answer them, because she's lying on a stainless steel morgue table somewhere.

The man is still looking at her, she notices vaguely. In fact, he's _staring_ at her, staring with a calculating gaze as she stares blankly down at the plate of food the bartender placed in front of her.

Something about his gaze makes her skin prickle. Despite having no appetite, she picks up a pair of chopsticks and raises some of the food to her mouth, trying to use the action as an opportunity to look at him from the corner of her eye.

He's handsome, she notices. Very, very handsome, with an aristocratic face and broad shoulders, piercing eyes and bright blond hair slicked back against his scalp. All of his features are well formed, blending into a mature visage that contrasts sharply with all of the boys she goes to school with.

"You're here for a reason?" he asks her, an easy, charming smile on his face.

She thinks he's flirting with her, though she doesn't know why. She's not pretty, not like Mother was . . .

"No," she rasps. "Are you?"

"Perhaps," he says cryptically, and hesitates, looking at her pointedly. "Do you have a name?"

"Hinasaki Miku."

"Miku," he repeats boldly, and she remembers reading somewhere that Westerners always use given names, even of people they'd just met.

"And you?" she asks, even as his fingers brush her arm. They're warm, so warm and _alive_, completely unlike those of the yurei she can no longer run to Mother to escape from.

"Wesker," he tells her.

Things seem to happen quickly after that. Mother is still there, still swinging from her noose and hollowing out Miku's insides, but now Wesker is here, warming her on the outside.

He's interesting to talk to, unlike anyone she's ever met. He's charming and intelligent and sly all at the same time, mysterious in a way that makes her heart beat faster, her breath catch in her throat.

He and Mother battle for dominance, control over her feelings and her actions, but neither truly win, both mixing together inside her in a way that shatters what fragile control she has left.

Soon she is back out on the streets of Kabukicho, Wesker beside her as they walk past the clubs and the sex parlors and the prostitutes standing in the alleyways. Rainwater falls on her again, but she is only damp by the time they reach the hotel's discreet entrance.

Selecting and paying for a room passes in a blur and suddenly they're there, stepping inside, clothes disappearing gradually in a haze of kisses and touches that make her moan.

Then they're on the bed and her virginity is gone in an instant, bed springs creaking as he groans above her, muscles flexing in his arms as he supports some of his own weight, hands braced against the mattress on either side of her.

There's so much _warmth_ that for a moment, Miku feels fearless again, as though the ghosts and the visions can't touch her. Mother is gone in that instant, the noose and the tree and her swaying body no longer decaying inside her mind.

But eventually it is over, Wesker pulling out and away and putting his clothes back on and leaving with barely a word said, and Miku realizes that she feels much colder than she ever did before.

.

Hinasaki Miku has never done anything wild in her life.

She is shy and meek and cautious, the type of daughter that parents needn't worry about. Mature and moral, responsible and controlled, the kind of girl apt to spend her free time studying as opposed to going to a party.

Mafuyu trusts her because of this; even when she finally finds her way back home twenty fours hours after she left, he does not ask her if she got into trouble, if she did anything she shouldn't have.

She is Miku, after all. She does not have friends, she does not go to parties, she does not put herself in bad situations. She studies and reads, sits in her room and tries to ignore the supernatural whispers in her ear.

She has no secrets, not from him. She does not spend long nights awake, battling confused, contradictory feelings about a one night stand, because she does not have one night stands. She has no interest in boys, and especially not in older, foreign men with devastatingly charming smiles.

She is innocent, pure, chaste, virginal—that is what everyone believes. But yet, as the months pass by and her clothes begin getting tighter, nausea plaguing her all through the day, she begins to dread the moment they will all realize differently.

When it comes, the humiliation wants to make her lay down and die, vanish into the realm of the spirits so that the only people who can see her are the ones that _understand_.

But Miku is not Mother. She does not hear the whispers of _pregnant, when she had so much promise_ from her teachers and go home and slit her wrists, or endure the other girls' nasty comments of _pregnant at sixteen, what a slut_ only to go and jump off the roof of the school.

She does not do this because she does not want to disappoint Mafuyu even more than he already is.

She is unable to meet his eyes as she tells him, face the sad, upset gaze that only grows in intensity as she chokingly explains that no, she doesn't know where the father is, she only knows his last name, she's only been with him once, she is so, so sorry—

Withering disappointment, something she has never seen directed at her ever before. It, and the awkward silence that follows, is devastating.

But when Mafuyu eventually reacts, he is calm. He takes her hand and tells her he isn't angry with her, that she just made a mistake, that he understands.

Then he asks her what she wants to do.

Miku does not know how to answer. All she knows is that she is frightened, more terrified than she has ever been, even beyond anything she has felt in the presence of a yurei.

She is the youngest sibling; she has no idea what caring for a child entails. Mafuyu truly doesn't, either, because they are so close in age, only four years between them.

She hasn't a clue how to calm a screaming child, how to feed it and play with it and give it everything it needs to live a happy life.

She can learn, of course. No one has ever said that she is unintelligent, or incapable of adapting.

But then there is the thought of something other than simple care. She realizes that as soon as it is born, she will become Mother, become the one to hold instead of be held, to comfort her cursed child when she herself is cursed and needs comfort.

She does not think she is strong enough to do that, not now, not when she can't control her own fear.

So she thinks about abortion. It's legal, simple, a short visit to a clinic that will put all her worries to rest, forever eliminating the link between she and a man who she knows nothing about and will never see again.

She will not have to gain any more weight, or have her body change to accommodate the child growing inside. She will not have to experience the agony of labor, or even ever see the product of that confused, hazy night, the screaming bundle of flesh that cements it forever in reality.

She can pretend that it never happened, and her first child, if she ever has one, can be with a man she loves, a husband.

For any other teenage girl in her position, it would be so easy.

But not for Hinasaki Miku, not for the girl who walks along the border of the living and the dead, who knows so well that human beings have souls that continue on eternally. Death is cold and dark, a type of writhing, icy sickness that chills her to the bone.

All humans eventually die. She knows that one day, she will, too. Perhaps she will go to a better place, paradise, or perhaps she will become what she fears, a white-clad spirit trapped in a hell of her own making.

She wonders if, once her soul crosses over into that darkness, she will wander forever in search of a long-lost child, an ubume tormented by faded memories of a life she ripped prematurely from her womb.

So while Miku is not ready to become Mother, she does not want to die with blood on her hands. That leaves her with only one option: adoption.

It tears at her, in a way—the thought of abandoning something that was created from her body, that another woman would raise such a part of her as her own, that she would miss everything in its life and know nothing about it.

And her child will be special, like she and Mafuyu. It will see things that other people can't, feel the fear unique to those who feel the touch of the dead.

"What if the family doesn't understand?" she asks Mafuyu, but he soothes her.

"We will find someone who will."

And they do.

Unlike Miku, Mafuyu has many friends, who each have many friends of their own. One of the closest to him is a famous writer by the name of Takamine Junsei, who tells him about a couple he has known for years who have been trying unsuccessfully for children.

"The woman," Mafuyu tells her, "is a housewife, very mild-mannered and sweet, while the man is a high ranking officer in the NPA. Well respected, with a good reputation. It's a stable marriage, as well. Both are educated and come from rather wealthy families . . ."

"But do they _understand_?" she asks, demands, pleads, because no matter how perfect it sounds (and it does sound perfect, very much so), that matters more than anything.

"Takamine-sensei has told them that some . . . oddities run in the mother's family, that there might be some strange happenings once the child gets older, but he says it didn't seem to bother them at all. If they're worried about anything, it seems it has more to do with whether or not you will okay the adoption. They really want the baby." He gave her a sly glance, his lips twitching with an amused smile. "He showed them a picture of you—they said you were very cute."

She blushes, hands rushing to cover her face, though for the first time in a long time, she laughs.

.

Hinasaki Miku's dreams are suddenly filled with twisted fragments of darkness and light, shattered representations of images and words reflected in a broken mirror. She only ever sees bits and pieces, unintelligible scenes rushing past in quick succession and leaving only a faint impression as to what they are about.

There is blood and pain, a hand writing in a book and laugher, demonic, otherworldly laughter, the snapping of a camera and the blinding white light of a bomb. There are ropes, guns, rotting hands, the cold black eyes of a man and the sound of glass shattering, the breaking of a mirror and a window and sanity itself as life twists and changes and becomes something else entirely, again and again and again.

There are decaying apples and shadows cast by a nonexistent thing, broken vials and sewer rats, heavy snow, a lullaby, hellfire, a game of chess and a cell, white kimonos and strangulation and the feeling of being watched, always watched and confined.

But most of all there is death.

Overwhelming suffering, millions of souls screaming out as one as they writhe in their death throes, agony dissolving into numbness as life slips away from them prematurely.

Miku thinks that the dreams might be trying to tell her something, but she cannot understand them.

Eventually, they even stop, but only after she's given birth.

Her water breaks at full term, in the middle of the night. Her sheets are soaked, though she is too panicked to even care, and before she registers opening her mouth, she has called for Mafuyu.

Soon they are in the bright, sterile hospital room, doctors and nurses coming and going as labor begins. It is quick and intense, searing pain in her abdomen that makes her want to rip at her stomach.

It takes hours for her to dilate fully, and by that time she is exhausted, wanting nothing more than to slip away into warm, painless unconsciousness.

But they insist that she push, that she bear down and grind her teeth and use her muscles to their fullest extent.

Hands clenched in the sheets and tears of pain leaking from her eyes, she forces herself to obey, pushing until her lungs force her to stop and breathe.

"The baby's almost out!" the doctor declares, sounding disgustingly cheerful. "Just one more big push, Hinasaki-san!"

"I can't," she pants, her head whipping from side to side. "I just _can't_ . . ."

"You can! Just give it all your effort, and I promise it'll be over!"

So she once again pushes away her tiredness and does as instructed, her sole source of strength the cold, phantom hand that brushes through her sweat damp hair, the gentle whispers of white noise that only she can interpret.

For the first time in nine months, Mother has come to visit, and Miku can do anything with her there.

"Push!"

Groaning, she gives it all of her energy, her entire body going rigid as she directs all of her focus to the muscles inside her, those beneath the membranes and tissues pressed against the child.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it is over. She feels empty, like a piece of her body has been removed, but the worst of the pain is gone as well, vanished in unison with the sound of angry screaming.

The nurses immediately hurry it off to the back of the room, cleaning it off and taking blood as the exact time and date of birth is declared: precisely four o'clock in the morning, February 28, 1986.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asks no one in particular. She could've found out months ago, but she felt as though referring to it by its sex would make it more real to her, force a type of bonding.

"A little boy," coos one of the nurses as she walks over and sets him on her chest. "And if he isn't just the cutest thing I have ever seen . . ."

The baby has light hair. That is the first thing Miku notices.

It is not that bright kind of platinum blond like Wesker's is, but it is not as dark as her own, which is already a much lighter shade than her brother or Mother's.

It is a light brown, with hints of the same kind of red highlights that are natural for her. It sits in a fine dusting over the top of his head, accenting clear hazel eyes that stare up at her in innocent annoyance.

His face is a perfect balance of Asian and European, delicate lips and eyes offset by high cheekbones and a strong chin. She can tell already that he will be handsome in the way Wesker is, that he will have the same charming smile and cunning gaze.

She knows that she will never see either of those things, however, not from this son that isn't truly hers. She will not see his first step, hear his first word, attend his graduation or wedding, because soon she is going to hand him away and never see him again.

All she gets, in fact, is the name.

The couple adopting him had been kind enough to let her choose, saying that they would honor whatever she picked and raise him under it.

She had spent months thinking long and hard, mentally shuffling through any and all names she liked. Originally she had intended to pick one for each gender, only to eventually settle on a strange name that worked for either.

The nurses comment on it as she fills out the birth certificate, something Miku is grateful for, as it's a much better topic than why the lines under 'father' are left blank. They say how creative she is with Kanji, and that it works so well, given his complexion.

The chitchat lets Miku forget, even be happy, feel as though she were simply a normal mother, but it only lasts for a little while. Soon the adoption agent is there with the papers, and she is signing away her rights, signing away her child.

Then she is allowed to hold him one last time.

She rests her face against the top of his head, pressing a feather soft kiss to the crown as she strokes her fingers over his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, and then he is being taken away, wheeled out of the room and out of her life.

"Goodbye," she whispers brokenly.

Then the tears begin to flow, and at that moment, she doesn't think they will ever stop.

.

Five miscarriages in two years would drive anyone, even the happiest woman, into depression.

Sachiko can never claim to have been the 'happiest', but she has never been a dark person, never had black moods or bouts of crying. She's never had a reason, until now.

Motherhood has always been one of her long-term goals, a thing she has usually taken as a given. Throughout her childhood and teenage years, there had never been a question as to whether or not she would get married and have children.

Back then, she had thought that finding a husband would be the difficult part, but it had turned out exactly the opposite.

With the first miscarriage at two months in, she had been upset but unworried, never in her wildest dreams imagining that it would happen four more times.

They had visited doctor after doctor, getting a diagnosis along the way but never a _cure_, never anything that would let them have a child. One said that, with extensive hormone treatment, she might be able to carry to term in two to three years, but Sachiko doesn't want to wait that long—she wants a child _now_.

Of course, the most obvious option, adoption, was never something she had thought of until Junsei had broached the subject of Hinasaki Miku's unborn child over drinks one night.

_She's sixteen_, he had said, _too young to raise a child but very healthy. A pretty girl, too, not to mention intelligent. At the top of her class, I believe. The father's abandoned her and she's looking for a nice family to adopt her baby._

They had debated nonstop for a month, unsure as to what to do. Adoption was hardly uncommon, and Hinasaki-san had agreed to it being closed—the child would only ever know them as its parents, would never even have to know it wasn't their biological child.

But it _wouldn't_ be theirs. She wouldn't conceive or carry it, give birth to it and hear its first cries.

Could she love it just as much without those things?

Eventually, after much thought and prayer and soul searching, she had decided that yes, she could. She would love anything that called her mother with all her heart.

Her decision is still firmly in place months later, as she stands here in the hospital, anxiously wringing her hands. They had told them over the phone that after twelve hours of labor, Hinasaki-san had given birth to a healthy boy, but Sachiko still doesn't know his name or what he looks like, how much he weighs.

She wants to hold him, to introduce herself as 'mommy' and let his little hand grip her finger.

The minutes pass like hours, the hands on the clock in the back of the room seemingly ticking in slow motion.

But then, suddenly, the door is opening and the adoption agent stepping inside, a bundle in her arms.

They jump up and rush over, looking down in wonder at the baby as it stares up at them with alert hazel eyes.

"Yagami-sans," says the agent, "meet Light."

.

.

Author's Note: . . . . . . . WHAT HAVE I DONE? Seriously, it took me about eight months to work up the courage to post this. I mean, I wrote it, but I _still_ don't know what the fuck it is.

But, anyway. One day, I got to thinking about how similar Albert Wesker and Light Yagami were. I mean, both of them are geniuses, both want to commit genocide and create a utopia that they'll rule as gods, both of them are manipulative psychos, both of them have something in their corner that normal humans don't (Wesker's virus-induced powers and Light's Death Note), and in fandom both of them are frequently paired up romantically with men that hate them (Wesker with Chris, Light with L).

So then, I remembered that Light was born in 1986, which makes Wesker old enough to be his father. That made me decide to write a fic where he was. And since I was already almost ODing on crack at that point, I thought: "fuck it, let's go all the way!" and make my favorite female Japanese character-Miku Hinasaki of Fatal Frame-his mommy.

That is the way my brain works. Fear it. XD

So yeah-it's crack. Crack that I decided to write in a serious tone, but crack nonetheless. Please don't overanalyze it or take it too seriously.

Anna

PS: Oh, and I don't know very much about Japanese Red Light Districts. "Kabukicho" is the only one I could find any information about.


End file.
